Chapter Three
In which Violet endures the worst lunch date in the history of terrible lunch dates.
Violet…
"Are we going to talk about the gigantic Greek god that just left your office?" Larry asks, gray eyes gleaming. He's sunk his teeth into this and I won't shake him loose until I give him an explanation.
"His name is Roman, so technically, that would make him a Roman god, not Greek," I say, shoulders slumping in resignation, accepting that this will take as long as Larry wants it to.
He sits down, making himself comfortable, he's wearing a t-shirt that says Sorry I'm late, I didn't want to come and outrageously expensive Gucci jeans that match his blue hair.
"You're so pedantic. Roman. Greek. Same thing. And why were we entertaining a supermodel in our office today?" he asks coyly.
"More like a serial killer," I sigh. "Or if a supermodel and a serial killer had a baby, that would be Roman."
"Tell me more," he prods.
"I met him at a fundraiser last week." I shift uncomfortably in my chair. "We talked for a while, I thought we might've hit it off, but…. He's sort of a heartless prick in real life."
He rolls his eyes. "Really? You're gonna pass judgment before you have a single date? See, this is why you haven't gotten laid in two years."
"I've been busy!" I'm stung. "I've had opportunities."
"Yeah, but none that you've taken," he says, unrepentant. "And I'm going to be honest with you, V. You're sort of cranky these days."
"It's… I have a lot of family stuff going on right now," I deflect. "That asshole Jack is upsetting Rose and Iris. He was harassing them at their high school graduation, wanting them to go to a corporate party with him."
He's gratifyingly disgusted. "He's trying to set them up with some of The Chads? Oh my God! The girls are eighteen!"
"Exactly." I can feel a headache pounding against my skull.
"Between Jack being his usual asshole self and writing that grant proposal, this week has sucked.
I thought Roman might be a nice distraction, but I was wrong.
If you let me get back to work, I'll take you to lunch and you can then condemn my tragic lack of a social life. "
"Your lack of said social life has left you with a dusty vagina, which is more suited to a maiden aunt," he says. "I'm going to get you one of those starched, Victorian lace collars to wear if you don't improve your social life."
"Larry?"
"Yeah?"
"If this was meant as a pep talk, it's not working."
"Okay, change of subject," he says. "Thanks for the loan, I got your Venmo last night. It's just that the deposit for the new place was higher than I thought. I'll pay you back."
"Larry honey, trust me when I say that you paying me back is the least of my concerns, so you shouldn't worry either."
He leans over, dropping a kiss on my cheek. "Well, now I feel bad about the whole dusty vagina comment."
"Sure, you do."
"Spoken from a place of love." He smiles serenely.
The phone on my desk buzzes and I gratefully punch the speaker, happy for any distraction that gets me out of this depressing conversation.
"Violet?" It's the timorous voice of Jones, our intern. "There's a gentleman here to see you, something about a donation?"
"I'll be right up, Jones, thank you." Flashing Larry a smug smile, I head for the door, smoothing my hair back into its tidy French twist. "See? This day is looking better already."
The day is not looking better.
The man at the front desk and currently flirting with my seventeen-year-old intern is a Chad. One of the big boss Chads, if I'm correct.
Colin Ashford. He's dressed in a rich asshole suit with a rich asshole tie, and greets me with a rich asshole grin.
"Violet, dear," he says, seizing my hand and pulling me closer to kiss my cheek.
He's got sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cleft in his chin that I'd bet my salary was created by plastic surgery.
Ugh.
"Your father told me I should stop by and say hello, he's-"
"Jack is not my father," I interrupt before recalling there was some mention of a donation. "But we're honored, of course, that you found the time to visit. Would you like a tour?"
I stare pleadingly at Larry, hoping he'll throw himself on the sword and show Colin around, but he mumbles something about getting the preschool program going for the day and conveniently disappears.
He is the worst friend ever.
Still, we got each other through Columbia University. When I wept hopelessly at 2 AM as I finished a paper, he'd be there with a monstrously huge bag of Snickers and Milky Ways. When he was hysterical and inconsolable while studying for finals, I'd supply him with bad boxes of wine.
Oh. The Chad is talking. "As you know, we're deeply invested in supporting important local causes," he says, flashing a grin. "Especially when it's for the less fortunate." He attempts an expression of humility, which looks uncomfortably like he's hiding a fart.
"Well, if you have a moment, I'd love to show you around," I'm resigned to my fate.
"Our library is to your left." This is the room I'm proudest of, it's built to look like an old attic with lots of bookshelves, nooks, and crannies to curl up in.
"While almost everything is online now, we keep a proper library full of banned books.
We feel that it's important for the kids to –"
"Where's your office?" Colin asks briskly.
"Oh, I'm afraid that it's a terrible mess right now," I lie. "I have paperwork for our tax return scattered everywhere, so…"
His brow furrows. "It's June."
"I'm starting early."
Colin's face clears. "I have a better idea! Let me take you to lunch. You can tell me all about that preschool program, because it looks very sweet."
Yeah, I think, they're just about the age where you start looking for girlfriends.
I stare at Colin, hating him with everything in me for dangling the offer of a donation so I'd let him put me through this hell.
Screw this, I think. I'll apply for another grant.
He can tell he's losing me. He may be an asshole country club clone, but he didn't get to where he is by not being as sharp and cunning as a street rat. "You know your father's-"
"My stepfather."
"-is only acting in your best interests, don't you?
" He says it with a tone of such painfully false kindness that I want to stab him with my pen.
"Now, the corporate retreat next month; I'm excited to tell you about it.
Let's have lunch. There's a great little place a couple of blocks over. Marino's, great Italian food."
My thoughts immediately return to Roman's revelation about Jack's gambling debt to "the Italians."
"It's far too good for this area of the city," he chuckles heartily, and it dies off as he realizes I'm not laughing with him. He holds up his phone, his banking app is open. "Lunch for a $20,000 donation. That's worth an hour of your time, isn't it?"
Oh, he hates having to negotiate. I can see it in his eyes, dimming to a cruel glitter that's sharpening my senses.
Still. I know he won't tell me the real plans he and the rest of The Chads have for my sisters.
But maybe I can piece together enough information from whatever ton of bullshit he's about to unload on me.
Once we've left the comforting confines of Hope House, I cut off his request to drive.
"Let's walk to Marinos," I say, "it's only a couple of blocks away, as you said.
" He looks sullenly at his town car, which is illegally parked in the alley next to the shelter and blocking the delivery trucks.
I'm not getting in an enclosed space with him.
"Isn't the fresh air wonderful?" I smile sweetly, watching him step over a pile of dog poop on the sidewalk.
Yeah, his Brunella Cucinelli loafers would never recover from that.
"I think you'll find the air at the corporate retreat will be far healthier," he says, trying to force that country club grin back on his face. "Very private, very secluded. It's a beautiful place. The company bought it a couple of years ago."
"And where is this retreat?" I ask, trying not to cringe when his jacket sleeve brushes my arm.
"Up north," he says vaguely. "It has expansive ocean views."
Marino's is a lovely little spot. I've never eaten here before because I can't morally accept spending a hundred and fifteen dollars for truffle gnocchi, no matter how much I love it. But hell, since he's paying…
The hostess shows us to a table in a private corner of the main room, almost hidden behind two big potted palms. This is an old building, renovated to keep the warmth of the exposed brick and the steel beams crisscrossing overhead.
The first few minutes pass with excruciating slowness as he chats about the weather, his latest golf game with his finance bros, and a trip he’d just taken to Singapore until the waiter finally sets down our plates with an excessive amount of fawning and then backs away.
"I wish you could see how important your future is to your parents," he says, trying for an avuncular tone. He's in his early forties, maybe.
"Are you a father, Colin?" I ask sweetly.
"No, not yet," he chuckles heartily. "But I'm looking forward to raising children of my own. Jack, and your mother Poppy, have been so inspiring." I stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out what the temperature is on his planet. "What about you, Violet?"
I take a gulp of water to soothe my suddenly dry throat. "Well, Colin," I say. "I feel like I've got a couple hundred of them right now with all these children in the program, so–"
"Not them," he interrupts impatiently. "Children of your own. Children with promise, and a good background. Where nothing is denied them."
Setting down my fork, I look at my truffle risotto with some sadness. It really does look delicious. Maybe I can get a to-go box so I can have it later when my stomach is not trying to crawl up my throat.
"Are you trying to say that these children don't deserve opportunity as well? Unlimited opportunity?" I ask.
To Colin's credit, he doesn't bother to pretend. "There will always be those who are superior, Violet. Children who deserve the best. Whose parents come together to give them every opportunity to lead."
"Genetic superiority?" I ask, all wide-eyed innocence. "Superior genes, and breeding? Sort of a master race?"
Colin picks up his drink, the ice clinking.
"I refuse to apologize for wanting to raise exemplary children," he says sternly.
He is Deeply Displeased with me. "I appreciate your egalitarian attitude and the devotion that you've shown for the less fortunate, but when are you going to see that you have a higher purpose? "
Oh, my sweet Lord. This is even worse than I thought.
"I love children," I say, leaning back. "I've always hoped to have some of my own. But never once have I thought my children will be superior to any other child. They're all human. They all deserve opportunity and a chance for a better life. That's the difference between us."
He aggressively chomps on an ice cube from his drink, the crunching noise makes my skin itch.
"Let's change the subject. You said you had plans for my little sisters next month at the corporate retreat," I prompt. "What do you do there? Trust falls? Teamwork scavenger hunts?"
When he looks up at me, his gaze is flat and almost reptilian. "I think you'll understand soon," he says, "that family is everything. Your mother and father-"
"Jack is not my father."
"Your stepfather has always spoken about how much you love your sisters, that you would do anything for them." He taps his fingers against the polished wood tabletop and I stare at them. "What would you do for your sisters?"
The air is still around us and even the sound of other diners seems hushed, like the entire place is holding their collective breath, waiting for my answer. The bright scent of sage and rosemary from the kitchen that smelled so good before sours into something cloying.
Leaning closer, I watch his eyes dilate.
"I would do anything," I say slowly, precisely.
"You can't imagine what I'm willing to do, to keep them safe.
" We face off against each other for a moment.
I can tell he's trying to determine if this is sisterly devotion or a predilection towards violence. I hope he realizes it's both.
There's no reason to be here anymore. I can't sit across from him and smell his horrible overpriced cologne. I hate that I've let him control me through money.
"Thank you for lunch." My smile is acutely uncomfortable. "I do have to get back to work, though I'm very much looking forward to thanking you for your generous donation. It'll go toward new sports equipment for the gym. We have so many gifted athletes at Hope House."
He doesn't bother to rise when I do, his boarding school manners deserting him as he leans back against his seat, still swirling his drink.
"Have a lovely afternoon." I smile, managing to walk out of the restaurant with some dignity, nodding to the hostess who glances quickly between me and Colin.
I walk sedately down the street until I turn the corner and then I run, slipping just a bit in my heels, determined to get back to the center and regain some sanity that's been lost to me for the last hour and a half.
Checking our bank account the next day, I realize that of course, the son of the bitch never made the promised donation.